


Say new words, any new words

by vhis



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt, Long John Silver - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vhis/pseuds/vhis
Summary: Long John Silver and his Flint-or why is the bird there with the pirate.





	

He remembers the way it felt, the confrontation and mostly the way it settled, heavy and heady inside the layers of his days. Everything centered and focused, even if revolving, faster, harder, around the same man.

Over and over, until gravity pulled, hard and unbalanced, a paradox, to bring him close, closer, to this contradiction of a pirate captain, tragic figure, romantic warrior.

 John left there, at Flint’s feet, like offerings to a god, waves of arguments, fights and proof, victories and even, some days, truths. They bounced back to him, an edge to them that cut until they couldn’t cut anymore, hardening him, teaching him, defining him for the future.

*

When he first forgets, they are in the middle of a fight, the prize unprotected and standing no chance, but still, he sees something and no one else does and he can’t keep the words inside.

“The captain is too scared to care, he’ll do something stupid,” and he hears himself say it, sees his quartermaster giving him _that_ look, again, and later he punches the desk, hard, because he sees there the faint imprint of Flint’s hands. And it’s not enough, wishes the man’s face instead of it, but when he thinks about it, he punches the wood again, because even if…even if…

*

Talking to Flint felt like growing, all the words and plans and smart guesses and even smarter come backs like vines extending off and out the limitations of his body, finding fertile ground. Somehow, the unidirectional intent of every line uttered by him changed when Flint stood there, to catch it all. Even when it was supposed to hurt and manipulate, even when he left. Even when Flint refused to listen anymore.

*

 They are celebrating something of no importance to him personally, but the men are close and the drinks abound and it’s one of those rare days when he can take raising the cup to his lips and not feel like retching, violently, images of old, trembling hands and glazed eyes crippling him.

So he drinks. And after a particularly false story that conjures false characters but true laughter, John sets his shoulders a little more straight, sets him mouth in a prod smirk, like in the beginning and says, a little to his right.

“See, Captain, just like the roasted pig,” but when he looks, different green eyes are staring at him and they can’t replicate, no one could since, that _… look_ Flint gave him when he was particularly trying his best to be a little shit.

And if he immediately leaves the men to their night, well, it’s because the day turned out to be, after all, one of those ending in him hating even the name of _grog_.

*

It felt like a pact. Real friends, or _friends,_ spit like a bad word, with incredulity, or enemies, betraying one another, or …leaving, it went, at least in John’s mind, like this: talk and I’ll listen; you’re the only one worthy of listening. And then, they never really broke the pact, only each other. So-

*

It’s a stupid thing. As stupid as the despised crutch he forgets more than once behind. But it’s a good disguise and, he thinks, it’s just temporary, so he walks and the damn thing comes with him and it doesn’t feel sad, or heavy, it doesn’t feel grounding like it did, either. Not like it did back then.

So his “You must be fucking joking, Captain”, is not a madman’s slip anymore, but a private joke between him and the creature perched constantly on his shoulder. Even if-

*

 He never thought, of all the things he can, should and is necessary for him to remember, as any good storyteller, that what matters, what he misses most, is the voice behind the words.

Some days he hates the sea, too loud to let the echoes of Flint’s voice to crawl out of the walls, and other days he hates Flint again, for leaving him with nothing but a fucking ship, a fucking name, a war and the same 125.107 words, arranged into the same replies. Never changing. Never again. Words he scribbles on old maps, but can’t _hear_ , not in that voice, not in _his_ voice.

*

They don’t understand when he jumps. But then again, they never understand his words or his intentions and he thought he’ll like it, to demand obedience and receive it blindly, liked and feared, but some days he misses someone to call his bluff, to catch a glimpse of John under the mask of Long John Silver. If only to practice more lies.

There are seven and a half bodies in the water.

All six crew men jumped in together when the bird fell. And yet, he dived right after them, almost fearing their hands around that seventh body.

When he reaches it, barely able to stay above the water himself, he lets out a breath, and maybe it comes from days past, because it feels like days past, and the small body carries too much weight to be just a bird named Captain Flint.

 There are seven and a half bodies in the water. And that half is him, as he feels cut, dragged and willing to let go, relieve that day, when there was still some purpose. But there are six bodies in the water as he holds onto the seventh and they are more than enough to carry them to his life again and he understands now, the resentment, even if back then he didn’t.

*

“You have to listen to me!”

“What?!”

“I’m not going to say it twice, you fucking bastard. So just…Listen and then say something that’s more than something guarded, _please_. Please, yes, I know the word. And I’m sorry, I know that word too. Listen, listen…”

“What?!”

“You left and you fucking left _me_ and I know I said I wanted you to, but – when did you ever listen…Oh, I know you did, more than once, but why did you have to listen to me _then_? They don’t talk back, they have no words right for me and I’m tired of talking too, so …I want to say that I m-“

“What?! Whaaat!?”

So John stops, turns his head and the bird is watching him, stupid, simple and innocent, everything Flint was not.

It’s the only time he tries, the only time he addresses it and the last time he breaks down.

One day, this will become a false story of how he taught the bird to talk, after taking it from a charismatic lieutenant pleading for his life on some island. The truth of it will be buried under layers of lies and intoxicated laughter, loud and scaring the shit out of Captain Flint, making him bury his claws into his shoulder.

Lies over lies, the same words and never, ever again the truth.

And it’s all the same, because no matter what the truth was, is, it won’t be the same if it doesn’t have _that_ voice.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it't awful and sad and maybe even OOC, but…it’s something I started to see from the moment they started to talk to one another and I knew the bird will be there in the future. Tell me what you think. Thank you.


End file.
